


Mayday (We're Going Down)

by makbaes (gentlemindedlostgirl)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Jeon Jungkook & Kim Yugyeom Are Best Friends, Kim Namjoon | RM & Jackson Wang Are Best Friends, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-30 10:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlemindedlostgirl/pseuds/makbaes
Summary: Mark swore he was over his high school sweetheart, Jackson. That was, of course, until he saw him in a bar with someone younger and prettier than him. And he knows he's seven years too late. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less.(Based on the song "Mayday" by Wild Rivers)





	1. A Couple Years Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> There's a few chapters to this but because it's more of an "on a whim" thing than something I'm committed to updating, I'm posting it as standalone for now.

_“Start by saying I’m a couple years too late. Not the reunion I was planning on. Now I came just to give my regards and keep my faith. Let go of your words that I’ve been hanging on.”_

Mark knew he was several years too late. Seven years and two months late, to be exact. But he hadn’t been counting. His lateness was clear as he watched his high school sweetheart sit at the bar counter, leaning close to someone younger, with longer legs, a louder laugh. Someone who could meet Jackson’s energy in a way Mark had never been able to.

 

When Mark had told his friend Youngjae, a fellow employee at a small time entertainment company, that he would be _glad_ to meet him and some friends out for drinks on a friday night, he never imagined that Jackson would be among them.

 

Seven years. He had convinced himself that he was over it--that the happy memories were just memories and he could move on and live his life but Jackson was _here_ and he was _wrong._

 

Jackson looked up to the door to find the source of Youngjae’s excitement and the entire world around him shattered as four years of memories hit him like a freight train.

 

_Jackson met Mark when they were “cast” to read as Tybalt and Mercutio in an English class. Jackson was loud, intense, the class clown. Mark was quiet, reserved, spoke only when spoken to but knew just what to say when he needed to. Jackson liked watching him blush every time he suggested that Tybalt and Mercutio should have been lovers._

 

_Jackson was wide-eyed later that year when he watched Mark play acoustic guitar and sang a song he wrote at a charity open mic night. And Jackson had never been a very religious man but that song had become his favorite hymn. He’d made Mark record it just so he could listen to it every night and sing him to sleep. How long had after they’d fallen apart had Jackson kept that on his phone?_

 

 _It took Mark ten minutes of courage and one bundle of mistletoe to kiss Jackson for the first time later that year. And they were scared out of their minds because they didn’t know what this_ meant _for them, but their friends were proud of them, and the two boys giggled like idiots, and they were happy, and that was all that mattered. They were fifteen and fourteen. They had forever._

 

_Jackson said “I love you” first, after he watched a senior hip check Mark into a locker for wearing a rainbow pin on his backpack. The slur the other mumbled burned in Jackson’s ears as he rushed to Mark’s aid and tried to tell them that the others didn’t matter. Tried to kiss his tears away when Mark said it back._

 

 _Then they were seventeen and sixteen, and neither of them felt particularly prepared for the SATs or PSATs. But Mark figured he won’t need them to make music, and Jackson’s poetry had been becoming stronger by the day. So instead of studying, they looked at apartments in Seattle, Brooklyn, Burlington, Chicago--anywhere they could just_ be _and didn’t have to answer to anyone._

 

 _Mark was eighteen and looking at colleges and he loved LA with all his heart, but he could not turn down a scholarship to Juilliard, not when he wanted to be in the music scene. And Jackson understood and he pretended it didn’t hurt when there were plenty of good music schools_ here _where they didn’t have to be on different coasts._

 

_Jackson was seventeen when Mark took him as a date to his senior prom. He felt out of place in his suit but Mark assured him that he looked gorgeous. They matched their ties and posed for ridiculous photos. Jackson wanted them to be prom King and Queen, but Mark was thankful that they hadn’t made the court. And they knew that their days were numbered but they danced like they had a lifetime._

 

_The first time they had sex, they fumbled too much and neither of them had a clue. They were still learning themselves, let alone each other, but they laughed through it. And slowly, slowly, slowly, they memorized touches, feelings, and how the other gasped their names._

 

_And when Mark moved to New York, they said it was a “break”. That it wasn’t fair to keep him tied down when he was across the country. They swore they would come back to each other. But they knew, as they cried and kissed each other for the last time, that this was their ending. They never said so. If they didn’t speak it, they could pretend it wasn’t true._

 

 _But it was. They went from speaking every day, to every other day, to once a week, to twice a month, to not at all for five years. And they lived their separate lives on separate coasts, and they kissed other people, tried to memorize the way_ they _liked to be touched, and they moved on. Or they tried to. Or pretended they did._

 

And now Mark was _here,_ back in LA, being hugged by Youngjae. And Bambam--who Jackson had just started seeing _two weeks ago, damn you--_ looked naively amused by the way the two of them were staring at each other.

 

Mark was polite. He wasn’t going to run off just because Jackson was here. But it felt like someone had torn all the duct tape off of his heart and maybe his repair job had been poor but it had been _repaired_ and now it was for nothing. He did not look Jackson in the eye as he said that it was nice to see him again.

 

Jackson resented that they had to talk like strangers and said “you look great” before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth.

 

Mark replied “you too”, and it would be the most honest thing he said the whole night, but the comment didn’t reach his eyes. And Jackson wanted to take Mark’s hands in his, show him he still remembered the heart line in his palms, and ask “what happened to us?”. But instead, he gripped Bambam’s thigh a little tighter and thanked him.

 

Youngjae, delightfully oblivious, grinned at his friends. “Small world, you know each other?”

 

“We went to high school together,” Mark replied and Jackson felt like Tybalt all over again, mortally stabbed in the chest. Was that what they were reduced to? Not lovers, not soulmates. Classmates. Jackson knew Mark--knew he chose his words to the letter. Knew that he said exactly what he meant and nothing else.

 

Bambam beamed from his seat, leaning forward excitedly to talk to Mark more. “I want to hear every embarrassing story you have about him!”

 

Mark could have told him about how when they made out for the first time, there was too much teeth and the scrape of braces. Or reminisce about some unfortunate haircuts and hair dye mishaps that may have been more Mark’s fault than Jackson’s. Could have mentioned the time Jackson mixed salt instead of sugar into bake sale cupcakes. He could have brought up the time Jackson had meant to serenade Mark 80’s movie style when he had the flu but went to the wrong house.

 

Instead, he offered Bam a chuckle and an apologetic smile. “Maybe another time. I haven’t seen Jackson since I graduated. I don’t wanna be mean.”

 

Jackson was both thankful and angry. He wanted to hear the stories Mark held in his chest. He wanted to hear any indication that those years had meant something to him--that he had kept them in a box under his bed too. That he remembered them.

 

Instead he got silence. Got the conversation changed to the shitty job Mark and Youngjae shared and how it was what Mark was doing to pay for their too-high rent in their equally shitty apartment. How he was still making music and posting it on soundcloud, still hoping that someday he might _make it_ out there.

 

Jackson hadn’t heard Mark sing since they were kids. And he _wasn’t_ making a mental note of the username so he could listen to it later that night when Bambam was sleeping in his bed. He tried not to feel guilty about it. He failed.

 

Mark, in turn, learned that Youngjae and Bambam were college friends. Bambam was still a student, a junior studying fashion. And he was a _model_ because of course he was, and life could never be fair. He had met Jackson because they had a mutual friend, Jinyoung, who had thrown a vaguely terrible party but hey, it had brought Jackson into his life, so he wasn’t complaining.

Maybe Jackson sounded a little pleading when he asked Mark if he was seeing anyone.

 

Maybe Mark sounded a little hostile when he said no.

 

Mark had been so married to his studies, and then married to his job, and then married to his own music that dating had fallen to the wayside. Jackson had been the last person he had dated. And maybe that was why it hurt even more to see that Jackson had been getting along just fine, had clearly moved on, had someone new to keep him warm.

 

A few beers and a lot of circumnavigating conversation later, Jackson asked Mark for his number again. Said they needed to catch up. That they had a lot to talk about. Mark, against his better judgement, gave it to him.

 

Mark pretended not to watch the way the younger male hung off of Jackson throughout the night, the way he always needed to be touching him. He looked away when they kissed under the guise of taking drinks or listening more intently to whatever Youngjae was saying.

 

Jackson pretended not to wonder if Mark is being honest. Pretends not to wonder if he and Youngjae are really just roommates and that this is all they have ever been. Especially not when it comes to his attention that the two of them got a dog together.

 

At the end of the night, Jackson and Mark make a tentative promise to meet up for coffee on Sunday.

 

Mark went home with Youngjae. Jackson went home with Bambam.


	2. A Gambler in his Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now I must say, you've had my mind in quite the wreck. And I deceived you with false virtue. But now I'm sitting like a gambler in his debt, counting all the ways that I would hurt you." 
> 
> Mark and Jackson meet for coffee and discuss the matter at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to continue this, but the updates are still going to be slow as I'm not putting pressure on myself to put out something I don't feel proud of. Patience is appreciated <3

It’s not cheating, Jackson decides as he sits down in the cafe he and Mark had agreed to meet at. It’s not cheating because Jackson can never have Mark back and he knows it. And even if he thought he could, it still wouldn’t be cheating because he and Bambam had only been on three solo dates and they had never labelled themselves. They were nothing. Technically. 

 

But the guilt sits in his chest anyway as he takes his earbuds out of his ears. He had listened to almost everything Mark had posted since they stopped talking. And if Mark ever asked, he had  _ definitely  _ not tried to find himself in the lyrics or between the melodies. He had not been satisfied when he swore that he found traces of his memory there. 

 

Mark could pretend he had forgotten. But Jackson had heard the songs. He felt the lyrics in his bones. Mark could say whatever he wanted, twist his words and lie through his teeth. But Jackson Wang knew better. And if Mark ever looked through the blog that Jackson posted all his poetry on and read any of it, he would know that the feeling was mutual. 

 

Mark walked into the cafe and Jackson’s heart stopped. It hadn’t been the haze of alcohol that had made him pretty that Friday night. Because even on a Sunday afternoon, Mark was stunning. His fashion hadn’t changed much--he had changed in his ripped jeans for a clean, tighter pair. But he still wore sneakers. Still wore a t-shirt under an open flannel. His hair was blonde now, not the brunette Jackson had seen last. But it looked good on him, made his eyes brighter. Reminded Jackson of the California sunshine. He watched from afar as Mark ordered his coffee and came to join him at the table. 

 

“Americano?” Jackson asked. 

 

Mark nodded. 

 

“You haven’t changed,” Jackson chuckled. 

 

Mark’s hands gripped a little tighter at the paper cup. “Yes I have.”

 

Jackson pursed his lips. Great. He had fucked it up already. He needed to save this, needed to choose his next words carefully. And he opened his mouth to speak again, but Mark beat him to it. 

 

“What are we doing here?”

 

Jackson furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean who are we fooling?” Mark asked. “Pretending...whatever this is can be nothing and that we’re not killing ourselves just sitting here.”

 

“We’re just catching up,” Jackson said. “It’s been a long time.”

 

“Is that what you told your boyfriend?”

 

Jackson winced. He thought about Bambam in his bed the last night, saying what a nice guy Mark had been, how funny he was, how he was glad that Jackson was meeting up with old friends again. He thought about Bambam leaving his apartment just hours before Jackson had come here. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

 

“Bullshit,” Mark spat. “If he’s not your boyfriend, someone needs to tell him that, because he was glued to you the whole night.”

 

Jackson chewed on the inside of his cheek. He knew it was bad, he knew he was doing the wrong thing here but he also couldn’t stop himself. “It’s been two weeks, we’ve hardly seen each other.”

 

“He likes you,” Mark said, leaning back in his chair. “He looks at you like you put the sun in the sky.”

 

“You looked at me like that once.”

 

“Don’t,” Mark said, shaking his head. 

 

They sat in silence for a while after that, sipping coffee and wondering if this was a mistake. Jackson knew it was. Knew that after today he’d never be able to go back to normal, never go back to being at least halfway over Mark Tuan. Mark hadn’t decided yet. 

 

“Have you been happy? Mark asked after a bit. But he didn’t know what he wanted to hear in response--to hear that he had been happy and that he was doing well, or that he had been suffering as much as Mark had. 

 

“Sometimes,” Jackson answered. Mark figured this was a good compromise. “What about you?”

 

“Sometimes,” Mark agreed with a nod. 

 

“Is Youngjae really just your roommate?” Jackson blurted out. 

 

“Does it matter?” Mark asked.

 

“Of course it matters,” Jackson replied. 

“Why?” Mark asked, a little annoyed. “If he was more than my roommate--which he isn’t--what would it matter to you? You’re seeing someone else. We’re not kids anymore. We can’t pretend like we could--” Mark couldn’t even entertain the end of that sentence because he knew if he finished it, he would never get it out of his head and he had enough self-sabotage for the day already. “I told you Friday,” Mark said, “I haven’t had the time to date.”

 

That sounded like the Mark that Jackson had known all too well. They hadn’t fought much when they had been lovers, but when they did, it was usually because Mark sometimes forgot to date Jackson as well as his music. Even back then, Mark had a wild ambition that sometimes took over his personal life. 

 

“You really  _ haven’t  _ changed,” Jackson mumbled. 

 

“You don’t get to say that,” Mark hissed. “You don’t know a damn thing about me now.”

 

“Whose fault is that?” Jackson asked. “You were the one who left.”

 

“Was I supposed to turn down that scholarship, Jackson? That was the opportunity of a  _ lifetime,  _ you said so yourself back then.”

 

“Yeah, look at all the good that fancy school did you,” Jackson spat. 

 

“Fuck you,” Mark said, shaking his head as he stood up to leave. How could he have thought that this would go any differently than it was going? This was going to be a trainwreck from the start and he should have known better. But Jackson caught his wrist.

 

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he said, looking up at Mark with pleading eyes and a weeping heart.

 

“Yes you did,” Mark sighed as he settled back down. “It’s not like it matters anyway.”

 

“You keep  _ saying  _ that,” Jackson said, getting frustrated now. “But you don’t mean it. I know you don’t.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Mark scoffed. “How do you figure?”

 

“I listened to your songs.” 

 

Mark froze at that. It wasn’t the answer he had been expecting. He felt exposed. Sure, those songs had been posted for the public to listen to. But he had never actually thought that Jackson would go back for them. He felt like Jackson had read his diary--read every late night heartbroken thought he’d had about him over the years. And he was embarrassed, angry, sad, all of that and more as he looked down at his hands. 

“Why would you tell me something like that?”

 

“Because I know you’re lying,” Jackson said, insistent as he looked up at him. “I know you’re just as hung up as I am. And we could either keep pretending like we aren’t, or we could  _ do  _ something about it.”

 

Mark shook his head. How long had he wanted to hear Jackson say something like that? How much did he want to believe that it could be true? God, all Mark Tuan wanted was to believe that they could pick up right where they left off--right at the hug in front of Mark’s car before he drove to the airport. Just start from there and have forever again. Start looking at shitty apartments together again. Dream that they didn’t need anything but each other and that everything else would fall into place. And he wanted everything they had missed out on--waking up tangled in each other and the sheets as the sun seeped through the window. Late, drunk nights with messy kisses and loud laughs. Struggling to make ends meet but making it  _ work  _ because they needed to for each other’s sake. He felt cheated of seven years of happiness.

 

But as much as his heart ached, screaming  _ yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Leave that boy with the long legs and love me again. Let me remind you what love  _ really  _ feels like. I missed you. I missed your loud laugh and the way you used to tease me. I miss the way you knew how to make my ears turn pink and my chest do backflips. Let’s make the whole world jealous.  _ He knew he couldn’t. They couldn’t. 

 

“I’d just hurt you,” Mark said. 

 

“I don’t think  _ you  _ get to decide that,” Jackson countered. 

 

“We’re different people now,” Mark replied, refusing to look Jackson in the eye. 

 

“Bullshit,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “Bullshit, you’re just scared. We could be  _ happy  _ again.”

 

“Living off memories about what we thought love was when we were children?” he asked. “Nothing would ever live up to that again. Nothing would live up to the exciting first love. Especially now that we’re grown up. We’d be too busy trying to make that happen again that we would forget how to be the people we are now. And I  _ like  _ the me I am now. I don’t want to lose that.” 

 

Jackson gripped his coffee a bit tighter. He didn’t want Mark to be right. He wanted to believe they could pick up where they left off but  _ now.  _ He wanted-- _ needed _ to believe that they could have the forever they’d promised each other when they were young and didn’t have a clue. 

 

“So, what?” Mark continued, having no mercy on Jackson’s heart. “You’d leave him? The pretty boy from the other night with the big lips and the long legs? For what? Me? Something that would be doomed to fail a second time?”

 

“He has a name,” Jackson said. He knew neither of them were being fair to the younger. The least they could do was call him by his name. “But yes. I would. In a heartbeat.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I like Bambam,”Jackson said, because it was true. He liked Bambam. He liked his energy, the way they could play off of each other and go maybe a little more wild than was absolutely necessary. He liked kissing those plump lips of his, liked watching his eyes sparkle. But he would never  _ never  _ compare to what Mark had been--what Mark still was. “But I loved you.”

 

Jackson knew he chose the wrong word the second it left his mouth and he watched Mark wince. 

 

Loved. Past tense. 

 

Mark inhaled sharply. Jackson had heard his music. Jackson knew that Mark was very much still present tense. Even if he didn’t want to be. Even if he pretended he wasn’t. 

 

“This was a bad idea,” Mark said as he stood up again. He wasn’t going to let Jackson hold him back this time. They had hurt each other and themselves enough for one afternoon. 

 

“My poetry is still about you,” Jackson said, looking up at Mark wide-eyed and hoping it would make him stay.

 

It did. For just a moment. Long enough for Mark to turn to him and say “stop” with a broken tone. He took a deep shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak once more before closing it again. He reconsidered his words.

 

“Don’t hurt Babam, Jackson,” he said. “He  _ really  _ likes you. He’s a good guy. Don’t hurt him for me.”

 

_ I have no choice now,  _ Jackson thought as he watched Mark leave the coffee shop. He could have been with Bambam for a while. They could have had something good, something fun at the very least. Something that would have left him with a full heart and happy memories. 

 

But now Mark Tuan was back in his life. And Bambam’s heartbreak was inevitable. 


End file.
